Brotherhood within a Brotherhood
by phoenixarchive
Summary: Kink meme prompt but with no kinks.  Malik being accepted and getting on with the other rafiqs; a series of drabbbles/scenes. Original prompt inside. Alt/Mal if you wish to interpret it that way.
1. Chapter 1

Original prompt: Okay, so I was looking at these adorable fanarts of the bureau leaders from AC1, and now I really want some fic of them being really cool bros, like helping each other out, bitching about lazy informants, or smoking and having tea together. The names of the other two dais are up to the writer, as long as they are appropriate to the setting, lol.

Bonus points if the Acre and Damascus dais briefly confront Malik about his crush problems with Altair, but since they are total BFFs, they back off after a few helpful suggestions. OR they help Malik adjust with having one arm.

Bonus BONUS points if the dai of Damascus constantly gives the other dais his awesome pots and Malik and the Acre guy are absolutely delighted by them every time. *v*

Author note: I spent a long while choosing names for the two rafiqs, and eventually settled on Jalees (companion, friend, person with whom one sits) and Zaki (intelligent).

Also, the rafiqs may be a little out of character (just watched some AC1 playthroughs and realised I am very much out of touch with it – not played it in so long!) but I've done them how I've imagined them to be when not dealing with Altair (who, certainly to begin with, they're a little miffed with XD).

x.x.x.x.x

Malik paused as he reached the centre of the village, his eyes flickering golden as he scanned the houses around him. One flickered yellow in his sight, and noted its location before shaking his head to clear the swirl of glowing colours, his eyes darkening to their normal hue. The house was the same as all the others, one of many in the village, hidden in plain sight. Malik snorted as he slid off his horse's back.

_Hidden in plain sight indeed_, he thought bitterly, walking around the block to the back yard, _as if I can ever do that anymore with robes of black and a missing arm._

The meeting of the Bureau rafiqs was a rare but regular occurrence. Most correspondence between the three major cities was done through informants and the wandering rafiqs of the Kingdom, but, every few months, the Bureau leaders would venture out of their domains to discuss anything of import in person.

It just so happened one of these meetings was scheduled mere weeks after Malik's appointment. _Like I have nothing better to do,_ he thought grumpily.

If Malik was honest with himself (which he wasn't) he was nervous about this meeting. He had had few dealings with the dais of Damas or Acre since his novice days, retrieving most of his information for his Master level assignments from one of the many rafiqs in Masayf.

The door opened before he had a chance to knock. "Aha! Our king of swords arrives, Jalees."

Malik was slightly taken aback by the Acre rafiq's jovial proclamation. "My apologies for my tardiness, brothers," he said as he crossed the threshold. "The Saracens have become more vigilant of late."

"Worry not, Master Malik," the old rafiq said. "You are, in fact, exactly on time."

Jalees nodded in agreement. "We are here early out of habit. Your predecessor was a rather impatient sort."

"I see," Malik said.

"Come sit, come sit," Jalees said with a smile, ushering Malik to their spread of cushions. "Zaki was just preparing some tea. You said the Saracens were more vigilant?"

Malik crossed his legs as he sat down and willed himself to relax. "They swarm the passes like locusts, and took issue with every form of swift movement. Even when I was merely walking past they felt the need to glare and threaten from their posts."

The Acre rafiq, Zaki, hummed thoughtfully as he prepared the tea. "The Crusaders been particularly watchful," he commented. "It would appear that the young Altair's work has not gone unnoticed."

Malik stiffened at the mention of _his_ name but, if the others noticed it (which they will have) they said nothing. "And what work might that be?" Malik tried to sound non-committal, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

"Al Mualim has Altair running tasks for him personally," Jalees said. "So far he has had two marks, one in Damas and the other in Acre. The targets were rather prominent figures."

"A master's work then," Malik said, a tad bitterly. Jalees chuckled.

"Not quite. He has to do all the legwork himself, gather the information himself, then satisfy us before we grant permission. No more automatic feathers for this one. I daresay a pigeon will be waiting for you in Jerusalem with instructions to withhold certain details."

"He is to come to Jerusalem next?" Malik couldn't keep the discomfort (not fear, never fear) from his voice. Zaki nodded.

"I think it is the next logical step. Tea, Master Malik?" Zaki said, pouring the boiling water from a fair height so the tea foamed in its cups. Malik noted that each of the tumblers was hand-painted pottery, and wondered where they came from.

"I am no Master," Malik corrected quickly, hurt lancing through him as he corrected his colleague. "Al Mualim -,"

"Bah!" Zaki said, setting down the teapot and waving his hand dismissively. "Al Mualim may be our Master, but sometimes he is a daft camel."

"iZaki/i!" Jalees said, scandalised. "Do not say such things!"

"Hmph," Zaki said. "Fine, if only to stop your whining. That doesn't mean I don't disagree with the Grandmaster on this point," Zaki added, handing Malik and Jalees their respective cups. "One arm or two, Master A-Sayf is still a Master, and never more deserving of it after he succeeded in clearing up after thatiahbal/i. Not to mention the fact that if soldiers were to find this hideout at this moment, only one of us would be able to fight out alive and it wouldn't be you or I!"

Jalees looked suitably abashed following Zaki's outburst, and Malik was stunned. Emotions crashed inside of him: pride, that someone as wise as the rafiq of Acre still considered him a Master, and smug satisfaction that the same wise man called Altair an idiot.

"You honour me, brother," he said sincerely. Zaki reached over the small table and gripped Malik's wrist.

"No, Malik," he said. "You honour us."

x.x.x.x.x

Will post the parts up as separate chapters to make my life easier ehe :D


	2. Chapter 2

To say that Malik hadn't handled Altair's visit to Jerusalem well would have been an understatement.

True, he hadn't killed, maimed or attacked the fool (and in hindsight, Malik realised that Altair had been expecting and perhaps even hoping for any one of those things to happen) but he hadn't managed to maintain the calm and professional exterior he had been working on.

That was a week ago, and Malik was still mulling over what he probably ought to have said or done. He had arrived to the Kingdom hideout to find only Zaki waiting for him – Jalees had sent a messenger with a report: Altair's latest assassination had inconveniently happened today, meaning the city was temporarily sealed. It would have been unwise to leave and attract suspicion.

Malik sat dejectedly on the cushions in the hideout as Zaki bumbled around him making tea (Malik had commented on Zaki's skill and appreciation of tea, and the old rafiq had grinned in response. Apparently good tea was difficult to come by in Acre, the Crusader's having the tastebuds to match their barbaric natures, so the only real opportunity he had to go all out was the meetings in the Kingdom. Malik made a mental note to bring some of Jerusalem's finest for the old man next time).

"Cheer up, brother," Zaki said as he handed Malik his glass. "From what you've said, I think you handled yourself very well. It is the job of a rafiq to provide harsh truths, to guide and teach. Whether that was your intention or not, you've certainly given him much food for thought."

Malik snorted. "I doubt that camel-head listens to what I have to say."

Zaki tilted his head. "For an intelligent and perceptive young man, you are a little blind to what is in front of your nose.

Malik bit back a retort and sipped his tea to cover part of his scowl. Zaki airily ignored the young rafiq's expression as he continued. "Have you ever noticed that Altair has never – not even now – sought the approval of his Masters?"

Malik's scowl deepened. "He was, and still is, arrogant in that respect. Even when he had the approval of the Masters he never acknowledged it."

"It's difficult to acknowledge something you do not truly want." Zaki sighed, and then chuckled, an old man's laugh at a memory. "When I was younger – still old, mind you," he added with a grin, "but younger, I was in Masayf for a few of years, restocking and organising the library. I remember walking into the courtyard one day to see a novice sparring with one of the adepts, being overseen by one of the Masters. An initiate was watching eagerly from the sidelines, and an older novice standing with him, was attempting to look disinterested. Despite the difference in rank, the novice bested the adept handily. Although victorious, the novice didn't even glance at his instructor for his praise, but turned around to get the attention of the other novice there. Do you remember?"

Malik remembered. Altair was barely seventeen when he beat that particular adept. He hadn't gloated, hadn't bragged (to begin with) but waited – Malik reluctantly remembered that he offered Altair a smile, causing the younger to grin (fool that he was).

"Are you saying that Altair is looking for my approval?" Malik said, the question not really a question since he already knew the answer. "Well he can look for the rest of eternity! If he thinks for one second I'll change my mind about him then he's more of a fool than I could ever imagine. I'm not going to pander to his ego like Kadar d-"

Malik's tirade ground to a halt and he shakily set his cup onto the table before he dropped it. Kadar. He thought about his brother constantly but always drove the thoughts back with work, with information, with maps and objectives. It was the first time he'd said his name for weeks, and it was as sobering as cold water.

"Your brother was a fine young man," Zaki said sombrely. "One of the brightest and most respectful novices I've had in my bureau for years. You did well by him, Malik."

"Not well enough," Malik replied quietly. "Not well enough at all."

x.x.x.x


	3. Chapter 3

All three of them were back for the next month's meeting, and Jalees had brought each of his brothers a gift.

"I had a new type of lustre arrive from Syria and had to try it straight away!" he said excitedly. "It's the same as the usual metal oxide paints but this one is much better quality and much easier to paint with..."

Zaki raised an eyebrow at Malik as Jalees waxed lyrical about this miracle paint from Syria. Malik shook his head and examined the pot more closely. He now realised where the hideout's tea ware came from – the designs on the edges of his usual cup and the inkwell he held in his hand were very similar.

"Jalees," Zaki said with a small sigh, "did you not think how two simple scribes would explain the presence of quality workmanship like this?"

Jalees flushed with pride at the compliment hidden in the admonishment. "Already thought of, my old friend! Yours was a gift from your son, a travelling merchant. As for Malik, Jerusalem map makers aren't as poor as Acre scribes. He has no need of an explanation."

Malik grinned as he carefully put the inkwell back in its protective box. The gold swirls of the detailed patterns shone in the candlelight and Malik smiled as he caught sight of the Brotherhood's symbol carefully and cleverly woven into the design. "Thank you, my friend," he said sincerely. "It is perfect."

x.x.x.x

_Drabble chapter is drabbley but the next one is longer :) Still, this is one of my personal favourites ehehe (if it's acceptable to have a favourite bit of your own work that is heh)_


	4. Chapter 4

Out of the three of them, it seemed that only Jalees had some patience and empathy for the slack-jawed brats the Brotherhood called novices. He was a jovial and forgiving sort of person, and one the novices had no wish to disappoint, for failure was not met with ire or anger, but a calm voice of disappointment.

Malik used to have patience, as a Master, but not anymore. Part of him acknowledged that he took out his bitterness of his predicament on the novices because he could – the rest of him felt that his venom was wholly justified, especially when the missions were often not completed to standard.

Zaki had a similar impatience with novices – they were too loud, too boisterous, and lacked respect. It didn't help that Acre had been inundated with them of late, it now being safer to send the youngsters on missions in the previously sieged city.

Malik and Zaki traded horror stories about novices on a regular basis, with Jalees sighing resignedly and offering some objective and forgiving comments which (generally) were ignored. So when Malik arrived to the hideout to hear Jalees railing angrily because of the actions of a notably clumsy novice, the youngest rafiq knew that something terrible had happened.

He slipped into the house silently and approached Zaki, who was sat on the cushions watching Jalees rant with thinly veiled amusement. "What is wrong?" Malik asked the old rafiq.

Zaki coughed his bubble of laughter with a small cough. "It appears one of our newer novices fell in through the Bureau roof and tumbled into a crate of newly made urns that Jalees had been commissioned to paint. It has cost him a pretty penny to fix – I daresay had Jalees been solely relying on the income of the shop it would be a very lean month for him indeed. As it is, we're all subsidised by Masayf, so I fail to see what the problem is – aside from the fact that Jalees was looking forward to a new project."

"Ah," Malik said simply in understanding.

"Malik had some trouble with Fakhir as well, didn't you Malik?" Zaki declared loudly and obviously when Jalees paused for breath.

Sensing an opportunity to bring Jalees over to the darker side of being a rafiq, Malik quickly related the tale. "The fool spilt wine over a stack of my largest and most detailed maps. Were it not for the Creed I think I might have throttled him there and then."

"And yet somehow," Zaki mused, "he is one of our most promising assassins."

Jalees grumbled as he sat down on the cushions next to his brothers. "Then I fear for the Brotherhood if he's the sort of camel we're raising to our ranks."

x.x.x.x 


	5. Chapter 5

When Malik felt his left arm itching that morning and glanced at the clouds in the sky, he briefly toyed with the idea of excusing himself from tonights meeting.

Briefly.

His verbal reports were too risky to commit to paper, and he had information he needed to share with the other leaders. So, he pushed the itch aside and soldiered through the day, trying to ignore his left arm as it desperately tried and failed to help reach for his books, to flatten the scroll he was working on, to cut a new nib on his quill. After noon, he swallowed his pride and ordered some passing novices to shut the bureau roof for him in the interests of speed, and then he left for the hideout early.

His phantom limb became more real as he rode – the fingers grasping at the reins, the tug of the horse pulling at the bit. Eventually the sensation changed, the memory not of a normal ride, but the last ride his left arm ever had.

The sword wound burned, jagged and deep, and his left arm swayed uselessly with the movement of the horse. He could feel his blood pouring down his arm, the weight of his sodden robes against his skin.

And all the while, Malik desperately tried to focus, repeatedly telling himself that it wasn't real; his arm wasn't there, it wasn't bleeding, there was no wound, it just wasn't _there._

He had never been more grateful to see the little house in the Kingdom come into view. He retained enough sense to check he wasn't being watched before leaving his horse in the shelter and stumbling inside.

No one was here yet, which was perfect. Malik curled up on the cushions and tried to calm himself, gritting his teeth in pain and frustration. He curled his hand over his stump and tried to massage it, to will the ghost of his left arm to leave him be.

It would not.

The burning pain was distracting enough that Malik didn't even notice the door open and Zaki slip inside. The Acre rafiq let out a soft exclamation of concern when he saw the younger curled up around himself, his hand clenched tightly around his stump and head buried in his elbow. The old man quickly and quietly lit the lamps around the room and set the kettle to boil before carefully kneeling beside the former-Assassin.

"The shadow of your arm haunts you," Zaki said quietly.

Although it wasn't a question, Malik nodded anyway. He felt callused but gentle hands prise his hand away from his arm (_my stump_, Malik corrected in his head bitterly) but he couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped him.

"It's the like I've been wounded all over again," Malik blurted out. "It burns, and... _heaven help me_ I can feel it. A thousand tiny daggers in an arm that isn't even there!" Inwardly he cursed his weakness – he did not need pity – but part of him couldn't help it. He needed to explain it, to have someone else try to understand, even though technically there was no one, because he was the first amputee Masayf had seen in years.

Zaki pressed a hot cup of tea into Malik's hand (and Malik felt a warm rush of affection, because no matter the situation, Zaki made tea, tea being a constant and a miracle worker) and they both looked up as the door opened. Jalees stepped inside, shaking the rain from his robe.

"Blasted rain clouds," he said irritably. "It better clear up on the way back... Malik?" he added in concerned, noting the younger's grimace and pallor, "What is wrong?"

"My invisible arm is deciding to complain of pain despite the fact it is not actually there," Malik said. "I do not mean to concern you, brothers. Let us not delay the meeting on my account."

Jalees grunted. "Don't be so daft," he said, flopping onto the cushions. He looked Malik over, his eyes resting on the Malik's left shoulder. "Unwind your sleeve, or shrug off that shoulder," Jalees said. "See if that helps."

Malik, despite the pain, managed to raise an eyebrow. He winced as he attempted to shrug his shoulder out of the sewn sleeve, so Zaki reached across to unbind it. Malik flinched, but let the old rafiq continue unthreading the rough stitches, the long black sleeve unfurling and flapping emptily by Malik's side.

Oddly enough, Malik felt the ache dissipate somewhat, more than when he attempted to massage the limb. Jalees noticed Malik relax a little and hummed in approval.

"There are those that believe the body had two aspects," Jalees said. "A physical and a spiritual. Just because your left arm is gone physically, does not mean it's spirit does not exist. Pain is a spiritual feeling as well as a physical one – so if your spiritual body feels pain, then you too feel the pain."

"So somewhere my spiritual left arm is being stabbed again?" Malik said sceptically. Jalees laughed and shook his head.

"No, no – your spirit is reacting to the change in the air," Jalees said, "the rain and the clouds. It becomes more tangible on days like these, closer to you physically than usual. Your sleeve, bound as it was, was restricting your spirit arm. The pain of your wound is but the memory your spirit reacts to most strongly."

Malik tilted his head thoughtfully, looking at the Damascus rafiq in a new light. "You are very knowledgeable about these things, my friend," Malik said.

"I had an uncle once, who has long since passed away," Jalees said with a shrug. "He lost his foot when a building collapsed an crushed it in Damascus. For the years after it was removed, every time it rained he would complain of it aching, and the feel of bricks crushing his bones. He was not impressed with my father's explanation of a spirit body, but nonetheless accepted that he was likely to feel his foot for years to come." Jalees smiled sadly. "I am sorry to say that you may have to deal with the same sort of pain, my brother. At least we live in Syria and not the home of the Crusaders, hm? I hear it rains nearly every day over there!"

Malik laughed, the ache in his arm fading slightly as he felt cheered by Jalees' good nature and humour. "Thank heaven for that small blessing. I don't think I'd get any work done if my spirit arm was making its presence known every day."

x.x.x.x


End file.
